Holes In The Floor Of Heaven
by MinervaDeannaBond
Summary: Are our loved ones watching over us even after they're gone? Mary asks this question to herself after Matthew's death, and it takes a loving reminder from Cora to help her realize that Matthew will always be watching over her, through the holes in the floor of heaven.


Are our loved ones watching over us even after they're gone? Mary asks this question to herself after Matthew's death, and it takes a loving reminder from Cora to help her realize that Matthew will always be watching over her, through the holes in the floor of heaven. This story was inspired by Steve Wariner's beautiful song "Holes In The Floor Of Heaven" - if you haven't heard it yet, do yourself a favor, but keep some Kleenex handy when you do.

Dedicated to my new friend Lala Kate, whose wonderful story "In The Company Of Strangers" was also an inspiration for this little tale. Thank you so much, and God bless!

* * *

"Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed: we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself."

_How can we be committing his body to the ground when he had barely even begun to commit it to me?_

"I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, 'Write, from henceforth blessed are the dead which die in the Lord: Even so, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors.'"

_I don't want to hear a voice from heaven. The only voice I want to hear is Matthew's, singing to our son, telling him he loves me; that I'm _his _Mary Crawley, forever._

Amid a somber chorus of "Lord, have mercy on us," Lady Mary Crawley could barely even speak the words for the lump that had settled like iron in her throat. Tears were streaming down her cheeks of their own accord, the dam broken long ago. What had begun as a happy day turned dark and disastrous in the twinkling of an eye… the instant Matthew had met that lorry on the road home. Back at the hospital, Mary had been living in a blissful bubble, nursing her newborn son George for the first time and softly singing "Lullay My Liking" to him, her heart swelling with joy and love for her boy, and for the wonderful man who had given him to her; whom she loved more than life itself.

But the bubble had burst when Anna entered the room, hands clasped before her and tears standing unshed in her eyes. At first, Mary wondered if something had happened to Bates, for Anna loved her husband every bit as Mary loved hers. As it turned out, the news was far worse. The words had echoed in Mary's head for a good minute while she was frozen in bed. _"Matthew's dead, milady. I'm so sorry." _They were there, but she refused to believe them, lost in her own private reverie of denial until a sharp cry from George snapped her back to harsh reality. Iron seeping into her mouth, Mary looked down at the precious new life cradled in her arms. She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been holding him until he cried out, and now he was looking up at her with a pair of huge azure eyes… his father's eyes. Matthew's eyes. _Matthew… no, it can't be true. Matthew, my darling, no! _Her breath had come in quick bursts, her chest was suddenly riddled with pain, and Mary felt sobs rack her body as tears began to pour forth. Anna ran forward to throw her arms around her, comforting her in the best way she knew how and mixing her tears with Mary's. Before long, George added his infant wails to the symphony, despite the fact that he had no idea that his father had just departed this world forever.

Now, as Mr. Travis said the Lord's Prayer while gray clouds gathered overhead, Mary stood before the open grave, holding her baby in her arms and staring at the gravestone with a face as rigid as the granite it was carved from. _Matthew Reginald Crawley, _it read. _Beloved husband and father._ A husband for too short a time and a father even shorter. First Sybil, now Matthew. Sometimes Mary had no idea why God had to call His children home so soon. And once they were home, were they still watching over you, until the day you departed the earth to rejoin them at last? Were they still your beloved, even from beyond the gates of heaven? Would George know that his father was always looking out for him, if that were even true?

"Almighty God, with whom do live the spirits of them that depart hence in the Lord, and with whom the souls of the faithful, after they are delivered from the burden of the flesh, are in joy and felicity: We give thee hearty thanks, for that it hath pleased thee to deliver this our brother out of the miseries of this sinful world; beseeching thee that it may please thee, of thy gracious goodness, shortly to accomplish the number of thine elect, and to hasten thy kingdom; that we, with all those that are departed in the true faith of thy holy Name, may have our perfect consummation and bliss, both in body and soul, in thy eternal and everlasting glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

A great tide of amens surged, but Mary could not muster even one. _Joy and felicity. That's fine for him to say. Matthew's dancing with angels on the golden streets of heaven, and I'm here weeping at his grave. So much for watching over us. _Without a word to anyone, Mary clutched George tighter to her breast and stalked away from the gravesite, out of the cemetery and out of sight… but not out of someone's mind.

* * *

Later that night, rain was pouring down out of the heavens and soaking Downton Abbey from the outside. Inside, all was warm and cozy, but a chill hung in the ambiance nonetheless. As the drops pelted to the ground, Mary sat beside her bedroom window rocking George to sleep, praying that the sound of the rain would soothe him… even if it couldn't soothe her. With a warm fire crackling and the rainfall trickling outside, the heir of Downton would soon be on his way to a deep sleep –

_Creak._

The door opened with a slow creak, causing Mary to gasp in alarm and George to start fussing. Murmuring a few soft words to her son to calm him down, Mary's eyes flew to the door and narrowed when they landed on the figure of her mother. "Mama, couldn't you have knocked? You startled George!"

With an apologetic smile, Lady Cora Crawley crossed the threshold and quietly shut the door behind her. "I'm sorry, darling," she said, striding the length of the room to her daughter, the skirt of her black gown making soft swishing sounds as she went. "Did I scare him too badly?"

Mary stole another glance at George, who was finally quieting in response to his mother's voice – and the voice of his grandmother, no doubt. "No, he's fine. He seems to be calming down much more now that you're here. I was having a little trouble getting him to sleep."

Cora's blue eyes were tender as they regarded her daughter and grandson. "May I take him for a while?"

Mary was quiet for a moment. Ever since Matthew's death, she had barely let George out of her sight or out of her arms, not even to cede him to Nanny's care. This little boy was the last living part of Matthew she had, and she didn't want to let him go for all the tea in China. But now that her mother was here, a beacon of light in the murky storm her life was right now, it dawned upon her that she needed a respite – and that it would do Cora some good to hold such a precious new life in her arms. "Of course, Mama." Shifting George in her arms, Mary whispered to him, "Georgie, Grandmama's going to take you now. Be a good boy and go to sleep for her."

Cora opened her arms and welcomed her grandson as Mary placed him within their hold. "Hello, my sweet boy," she crooned to him, her fingers gently playing with the downy brown baby fuzz crowning his head. "Your hair looked so much like this when you were a baby, Mary. So dark and soft."

"Heaven forbid the rest of him should look like me as well," Mary said, bitterness overriding the sardonic note in her voice. "I'd rather he look like his father."

Cora's blue eyes met Mary's dark ones. "My dear, we never can tell who our children are going to look like when they're first born. When you were an infant, you were the spitting image of your Grandmama Martha."

Mary bolted straight up in her chair at that piece of news. "You're joking! I looked like Grandmama?"

Cora smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid so. Of course, she was overjoyed and Granny was dismayed to the point of throwing a tantrum; she utterly refused to believe that any granddaughter of hers would turn out to look like 'that woman.' But as you grew, you turned out to resemble –"

"You," Mary finished, her eyes fixed on her mother's face. The thick, dark hair, the fine bone structure, and the slender figure – all features Mary had inherited; beauty that Cora had passed down to her.

"Exactly. Each one of you girls looked like somebody different. You take after me, no doubt, but Edith carries the best of Granny and Sybil was the spitting image of your father, God rest her soul. George has your hair and Matthew's eyes, but only time will tell whom God has deemed he should look like."

Mary bowed her head in sorrow. "I hope with every fiber of my being that he looks like Matthew. How else will I know that Matthew is still with me? If he's not watching over me, at least it will still seem like it."

Cora's head suddenly jerked up and her blue eyes flashed with incredulity. "What do you mean, Matthew's not watching over you? Of course he is!"

"Mama, didn't you listen to Travis earlier? Matthew's throwing a party with God and the angels up there; how on earth can he be watching over me if he's having such a wonderful time? He's probably forgotten all about me by now."

Cora closed her eyes for a heartbeat and inhaled deeply. Rising from her chair on an exhale, she crossed the room to George's cradle and laid him in it, covering the now-sleeping infant with a soft blue blanket. Once he was down, Cora turned back to her daughter. "Come, Mary. Come to the window with me. I want to show you something."

Taking her mother's cue, Mary arose and followed Cora to the window, where her mother pointed at the rain-dappled glass panes to the downpour beyond. "Look out there, Mary. Tell me what you see."

Mary looked, if only to indulge her mother. "I see enough water to fill Victoria Falls three times over."

Cora chuckled, much to Mary's indignation. "Look again."

Resisting the powerful urge to take a leaf out of Granny's book and roll her eyes, Mary obeyed. "I see rain. What's the point of this, Mama?"

"That's exactly the point. It's rain. Do you remember what I told you rain was, a long time ago?"

Mary thought back until it hit her. "You told me that rain was the tears of our loved ones, the ones who'd left us and were…" _No. It's not possible._

"Watching over us," Cora said, her lips curving into that familiar warm smile. "I told you that the day that Grandfather Patrick died, remember?"

For the first time that evening, Mary smiled, albeit sadly. "I do. I was heartbroken when he died, because he was the one who taught me how to ride horses, how to play cards, and how to tease Granny and get away with it. Aside from Carson, he was my best friend."

"And you were worried that he wasn't able to see you because heaven was so far away. I sat you on my lap and told you that there are holes in the floor of heaven, and that's how he's able to see you. If I remember correctly, you jumped off my lap and waved at the ceiling, smiling your best for him."

A chuckle escaped Mary at the memory. "I did that every single year on the anniversary of his death for years after. Granny never knew why I would suddenly jump up and start waving at the ceiling like a mad thing. To tell you the truth, I think it was a private joke between Grandfather and me, like he was having one last laugh at Granny with me."

Cora laughed. "And that was how you knew he was always watching over you, wasn't it?"

Mary gazed fondly at her mother. Only Cora knew how to heal a situation, with the sensibilities of the English wrapped around her courageous American heart. "You know, you're right. Come to think of it, Matthew's probably sharing that heavenly wine with Grandfather right now, and I have no doubt they're sharing horror stories about the Crawley women."

"See? And between sips, they're peeking down at the holes in the floor to watch over you and George." Cora reached out and took Mary's hands in hers, her eyes shining. "Mary, my darling, just because Matthew's rejoicing with the Lord doesn't mean that he's forgotten about you. On the contrary, he could never forget about you, or George. He'll always be watching over you, and that rain outside means that he's weeping for you; letting you know that he's there. You've got to keep believing that, until the day that you're together again."

Tears filled Mary's eyes once again, but this time, they were tears of relief – and of joy at the very thought. "Oh, Mama," she said, falling into Cora's embrace, as she had many times when she was a little girl. Mother and daughter remained in the hug for a warm moment after until Cora stood up. "Are you going to be all right, Mary?"

"I think so, now that you've set me right." Gratefully, Mary kissed her mother's cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Always." Pausing at the bedroom door on her way out, Cora looked back and cast a loving glance upon her eldest daughter. "Good night, my darling."

"Good night, Mama." Once the door had closed behind her mother, Mary turned her eyes heavenward and waved at the ceiling, praying – and knowing – that Matthew would see her, and wave back in joy. "Good night, Matthew. Watch over us while we sleep, as we grow, and until we meet again."


End file.
